Oasis
by Entwife508
Summary: The Commonwealth is a new kind of desert. It's devoid of usable water, safe food, intact shelter, and human decency. Taking up with an antique Vault-dweller is probably the dumbest idea MacCready has ever had.


_Glink_.

What an odd sound.

_Glink_.

There it was again.

_Squeaka-squeaka-glink_.

The noise was becoming more persistent. MacCready rolled over on his disgusting mattress and pulled his wadded-up duster out from under his head so he could stuff his head under it instead. He might technically be awake but it was fuck o'clock in the morning and he was not happy about it.

_Squeaka-squeaka-squeak_ went the bed in the next room over.

_I don't care_, he thought angrily. _I earned my goddamn sleep yesterday and fucked if some lousy chemheads are gonna chase me outta here a minute before nine._ The array of noises from next door escalated, though; first to louder thumping as the rickety bedframe hit the wall, then to more of the same with a side of the most blatantly fake moaning MacCready had ever heard.

Enough was enough. If he didn't get out of here, he was going to start providing constructive criticism, and he was way too undercaffeinated to be starting a fight at this hour of the morning. Griping to himself, he set about pulling his boots on and packing up what little he carried with him. As he rounded the corner from the stairs to the lobby of the Rexford, he traded sneers with Claire (as was their custom - MacCready because fuck mornings, and Claire because fuck everyone). Outside, that bald drifter with the sunglasses was sitting on a bench smoking. He smirked as MacCready shambled past. "Daisy just put a fresh pot of coffee on", he volunteered, nodding in that direction. MacCready nodded back and kept moving. He'd bummed a smoke off the guy yesterday and he'd been pleasant enough, unintrusive when it was clear that a day of lugging heavy shit around for Bobbi No-Nose had left MacCready with less mental filter than usual. That late-afternoon butt had gone a long way toward restoring his equanimity, and it was a high-value resource. One didn't just take a man's smokes and give nothing back. At least sweet-talking Daisy into parting with a couple of cups was easy enough - and it didn't cost him anything, where the drifter probably would've had to pay for it. Once he'd weaseled his way into a couple of slightly-chipped mugs sloshing with the black blood of the earth, he made his way back to the bench and passed one over to the drifter. The guy was polite enough, thank God, to suppress his faint surprise at the reciprocity. MacCready shrugged at his thanks and parked his ass on the bench again. A few bitter sips and a hearty drag on the first cigarette of the pack he'd just bought from Daisy, and he found himself feeling a bit better. The morning sky was kinda pretty, pale and not yet bright enough to hurt his eyes. He took it all in for a while, enjoying the relatively comfortable silence. When his coffee was gone and his cigarette tossed, he looked to his left as he levered himself to his feet - the drifter was gone. _Huh. Guy's pretty stealthy_, he noted, trying not to make a show of checking his pockets just in case. Yup, everything was still there. Thus reassured, he made his way down to the Third Rail to wait for possible clients. There hadn't been any real work for him in over a week, hence the necessity of taking odd jobs for the insufferable Bobbi No-Nose, but hope sprang eternal, or whatever.

Magnolia rocked in around ten, which, fair enough, she sang her heart out literally all night and put up with the drunks besides. He chatted with her at the bar for a while, but keeping him amused wasn't Magnolia's job, so ultimately MacCready made his way to his usual armchair in the back room. The red lights always gave him a headache, and if he smoked too much in there, the air got really stale. It frankly sucked, albeit not as badly as some situations he'd been in. An hour or two dragged by in relative quiet. Somewhat to his surprise, his first guest of the day was Hancock. The Mayor was more energetic than usual for twelve-thirtyish in the afternoon; he rushed into the back room in a flurry of red coattails and jet fumes, flinging himself down onto the couch sideways with his bootheels threatening to upset MacCready's whiskey on the end table. That ancient tricorne hat slid down over his black eyes, snagging a little where the bridge of his nose should have been and the skin was extra rough-looking. Hancock groaned theatrically and knocked his hat off, flinging his arm over his face instead. "I think I'm in love", he rasped, peeking under his elbow at MacCready with a grin.

MacCready chuffed out a laugh and reached over Hancock's feet to rescue his whiskey. "Oh yeah?", he asked amusedly. "Who is it this time?" He'd been in town for about six months now, since leaving the Gunners, and he was pretty sure he and Hancock were actually almost friends at this point. He'd seen the ghoul fall into and out of flings and scandals on a weekly basis, and the reward for his lack of judgment seemed to be cheap accommodations, which he took shameless advantage of, and free-flowing chems, which he rarely touched.

"Newcomer", Hancock advised him smugly. "Pretty little thing. She killed Finn, saved me the trouble." MacCready raised an eyebrow. "What, did he try the-" Hancock cut him off, nodding. "Yeah, the musclehead extortion act bullshit. She told him to stuff it and he wasn't smart enough to quit yappin', so she shot 'im in the _throat_. Hottest fuckin' thing I've seen in weeks!" He fumbled a jet inhaler out of his pocket and took a substantial hit, then languidly eeled around so he could reach across the end table and offered it to him. MacCready waved the chem off with a smile. "Later, maybe, if I manage to land some work", he suggested. Hancock nodded easily. "No pressure, brother", he said, as he often did. "Maybe Miss Itchy Trigger Finger will have a job for you. Wouldn't put it past Daisy to send her your way."

MacCready hummed noncommittally and sipped his drink. "Guess we'll see", he replied. "Hey, I brought the chessboard from the Rex over here yesterday - you wanna play? Fahrenheit's been kicking my butt every chance she gets and while I totally respect her, she's kind of a crappy teacher." Hancock righted himself, stretching one long leg out to snag his hat from the floor as he turned. "Sure thing", he agreed, setting his omnipresent tin of Mentats on the end table as MacCready gathered the board and pieces. "Better than sitting around my office dealing with every two-cap mook that thinks he _urgently needs_ my damn time."

It was _nice_, MacCready thought as he pondered his moves. Goodneighbor was a pit, sure, but here at least he had Daisy and Hancock, chess games and a minimally-leaky roof, company when he wanted it and whiskey-soaked solitude when he didn't. It wasn't _enough_ \- he was no closer to a cure for Duncan, Lucy was a wound so raw he couldn't even think about her, and every day without work inched him closer to ruin - but it was _something_, and it was the minimum required to keep him moving forward and not giving up.

There was no work that day, sadly. He'd spent a couple of hours hanging out with Hancock, scrounged up a minimally-nutritious meal for himself, and mostly waited. The next day - it was a Thursday - continued much the same. No work, lots of waiting. It had a way of wearing on a man, MacCready found. Idleness had a tendency to bring his problems out where he couldn't put them aside anymore.

On Friday, things continued to deteriorate. MacCready had been obliged to move out of the Rexford in the morning, unable to pay for another night. The friendly drifter had vanished altogether, and Hancock evidently was busy mopping up the mess Bobbi had created trying to break into his storeroom. _At least I didn't stick with the job past hauling furniture around for her_, he thought bitterly. _Rather be broke than steal from a friend, although soon I won't have a choice. _He'd had another night of shitty sleep, dreams of Lucy and the train station leaving him feeling paper-thin in the soul. The back room of the Third Rail was not a place he wanted to be, and yet here he was. It was four in the afternoon, or thereabouts, and the icing on the cake arrived in the form of Winlock and Barnes. God, MacCready hadn't missed those two brahmin-brained lunks at all, and they were even uglier than he remembered.

They postured and threatened and tried _so hard_ to look cool and it would've been pitiful if it wasn't for the fact that they were each half again his size. RJ made a snide remark or three, just off-the-cuff, barely pausing as he noticed someone slip quietly into the room past the mannequins. From the corner of his eye, he registered that it was a woman in a yellow dress; whatever she was, she wasn't a Gunner, so he paid her less mind than the two imminent threats in front of him.

The woman settled on the couch beside his chair, waiting quietly. When the 'conversation' with Winlock and Barnes concluded, he turned to face her. 'Look, lady. If you're preaching about the Atom or looking for a friend, you've got the wrong guy. If you need a hired gun, then maybe we can talk.'

'Maybe', she said. 'But I'm wondering if you could tell me who those guys were.'

MacCready assessed her more thoroughly, then, in light of the possibility that she might have work for him. Relatively pale, slim, freckled, light reddish hair pulled back with a kerchief. Clocking the Pip-Boy on her arm, he mentally recategorized her as a Vault-Dweller. That meant caps, potentially, but also a whole mess of trouble as Vaulties hardly ever knew their little blue asses from their elbows. MacCready was just a little too strapped for caps to be choosy, though, so he resigned himself to explaining. 'Just a few morons who don't like anyone cutting in on their business. Shouldn't be surprised, though. What can you expect from Gunners?" Maybe she wouldn't dig too deep - or maybe, if he was lucky, the Vaultie wasn't as fresh as she seemed and the name alone would suffice to send her packing.

"Can't say I know too much about them. Who exactly are the Gunners anyway?" The question was genuine and the woman sounded sincerely concerned. MacCready suppressed a wince under that sharp graygaze.

'One of the biggest gangs in the Commonwealth. Got a rep for being crazy. You know...so tightly wound, you'd think they were a cult or something? I tried working with them for awhile 'cause the money was good, but I never really fit in." _Thankfully_, he added mentally. "So I made my break and started flying solo. Found it suits me much better. But you…I don't know who you are. How do I know I won't end up with a bullet in my back?" He had to ask, he justified to himself. RJ MacCready had known a few Vault-Dwellers in his day, and by the way she was giving him the side-eye, this was one of the canny ones.

"Are you always this suspicious?" She didn't look offended, more amused than anything else, and it prickled at his pride a bit. "Hey, you approached me." He retorted defensively. "Frankly, I'm taking a huge risk being out here in the Commonwealth in the first place, so I'm not about to leave anything to chance." Maybe he shouldn't have said that much… Too late now. He just rolled with it. "Which brings me back to my original question: can I trust you?"

"You probably shouldn't. That's part of the risk, right?"

The banter was unexpected. She clearly had some kind of sense of humor; that was a plus in his book. MacCready smirked back. He appreciated the bluntness. "Can't argue with that. Tell you what... Price is 250 caps. Upfront. And I don't bargain. What do you say?"

"You've got yourself a deal", she agreed easily, fishing around in a hidden pocket for a bag of caps. She just- forked it over like it wasn't a thing. _Damn, I should've asked for more. Well, let the weirdness begin_, MacCready thought. The Vaultie didn't keep him waiting. "Nora Wilder", she introduced, sticking a hand out. "MacCready, right? Daisy had very positive things to say about you." The handshake was brief and to the point, and by her bearing, the Vaultie - _Wilder_ \- was used to being in charge. Well, that suited RJ MacCready just fine. "Lead on, boss", he told her.

Wilder gestured out toward the bar. "Are you hungry? I'm famished. Let me buy you a late lunch and we can talk about what we'll be doing." She curled her skinny fingers into the one intact sleeve of his duster and urged him out to an empty table. She shooed him into a seat and left him there to bemusedly count his caps. MacCready listened with half an ear as Wilder chatted with Whitechapel Charlie. The surly robot sounded like he had work for her, and an unexpected trickle of hope welled up as he heard her wheedle for more caps. When he allowed himself to look up properly, she was loading dishes into the crook of her arm and snagging two Gwinnett ales by the neck like she'd done it a thousand times. The plate that landed in front of MacCready was mirelurk cakes, one of the few things Charlie did well, and the beer was almost cold. He smiled a bit despite himself. "You're pretty good at that", he observed. "So, what's the plan?"

Wilder sank into the opposite seat and pulled out a lighter to pop the cap off her beer. "Little background first", she said, passing him a slightly worn edition of Diamond City News. "Oh, I saw this", he said absently, opening his own bottle with his teeth. "The lady who - oh _fff_crap, was that you_?_" She nodded. MacCready busied himself with his beer for a minute so he wouldn't say anything dumb and handed the paper back. "So, that's why I don't like to travel alone", she admitted. "Most of my information about daily life is _way_ out of date, and my old line of work was - let's call it _very different_. I need someone to watch my back."

"All right, that sounds reasonable", MacCready agreed cautiously. "So, what are we going to be doing, exactly?" At least she was smart enough not to go it alone, he thought, digging into his amazingly free lunch with gusto. "Settlement development, mostly", Wilder replied. "I have a network of settlements ranging mostly through the Northern Commonwealth, but we're expanding. I go to potential settlement sites, clear out any raiders or troublesome wildlife, and start construction on basic amenities."

MacCready hummed thoughtfully between bites. "And what do you get out of that?", he asked curiously. "Because, not to pry or anything, but it doesn't exactly sound profitable. Most people out here don't have much." Wilder nodded. "You're right about that, but I get more than you'd expect", she said vaguely. "Let's take care of this job for Charlie and if it goes well I'll show you." MacCready dredged a forkful of mirelurk and tatos through the Orange Sauce Of Mystery. "Works for me", he agreed. "What's Charlie need?" The Boss slouched just a little in her seat, pushing back as a drunken patron bumped into her. "Sounds like some people who ought to know better have gotten a little sloppy in their shameless grifting. We have a couple of locations that need a thorough cleanup. I figure, after we eat, we can go see Daisy and KLEO, get our supplies sorted out. We can tackle these places tonight or first thing in the morning - but I think sooner is better."

MacCready busied himself with peeling the ancient label off his beer. "Tonight sounds good to me, boss. S'not like I've got other plans." Wilder was looking him over more thoroughly now as they ate. It was a bit uncomfortable, made him all too aware of his missing coatsleeve and various other imperfections. "So that we're clear", she said, "I've never worked with a mercenary before and I'm not sure what your expectations may be. I would imagine that the two-fifty buys what, a week or two of your time?" MacCready nodded. "About a week, yeah." Wilder sipped her beer thoughtfully. "Jesus, what is _wrong _with the future, beer's all wrong but mutant monster crabs are delicious. Anyway, it seems obvious to me that since our work will involve travel, as your employer I'd be responsible for your room, board, and resupply, right?"

No, that wasn't obvious to MacCready at all, it was bizarrely generous - but he was no fool, so he nodded and allowed himself to look gratified. "Fair", he allowed with a faint smile. "What's the policy on loot and salvage?" If Wilder wasn't blowing smoke, this might end up being a nice little mealticket. She smiled. "Well, if we find something that's an upgrade for you, it's yours. Caps, stims, and assorted valuables, we can split. I've got to call dibs on any fusion cores or power armor pieces, though. Any overflow gets sold. Although..." She trailed off for a moment, embarrassedly, and fidgeted with untangling one wavy copper lock from another in her ponytail. "Full confession, I collect a lot of what most people consider junk. Like, a _lot_. I can build some pretty cool things from scrap so if you see me hauling twelve desk fans and three hot plates, there's a reason for it other than my own looming culture shock and old-timey ways."

MacCready snickered at that. "All right, but I'm a sniper - I work best at a distance and I'm definitely not best used as a pack mule. If you're lugging typewriters and fire extinguishers and sh- and crap like that, that's all you." Best to distance himself from that kind of thing right off the bat, he reasoned. Otherwise he'd be stuck lugging half a junk store from here to Northern Fucksberg twice a week.

"Works for me", she conceded. "I left my stuff up in the Mayor's office - when we're done here I just need to run up and change into my work clothes, won't take a minute." God only knew what that meant. Probably one of those shoot-me-now blue suits Vault-Tec liked so much. MacCready narrowly resisted rolling his eyes. "Sure thing. I've gotta drop something off to Daisy real quick - I'll meet you in the office." That gave him enough time to scribble out the rest of his letter to Duncan and get it and most of his new caps on the next caravan out. They split up a few minutes later. MacCready headed up to see Daisy, wondering if this was his best idea yet or his worst.


End file.
